Be that as it may, I was just as happy to blame the Morrils as anything. Leo, especially, needed a fucking comeuppance for how he treated Sarah at the New York City gala. If I couldn’t slap him in public, maybe bringing in some help to grab him by the balls would do some good.
“And how would you protect Sarah?” I said, trying to remain on topic.
“Well, I think you know the answer,” Dante said. “But Cassius. I don’t think this is something you can outsource to others. I don’t even think me doing it is good enough. I think you, as the CEO of this whole enterprise and the oldest Vale in the group, need to be the one to reach out.”
Indeed, I did know exactly what the answer was. It was one I’d wanted for some time, but to Dante’s point, had always put in his or intermediaries’ hands to get done. I’d never gotten my hands bloody, or in this case, even in the vicinity of blood.
That needed to change. If it meant the difference between Sarah getting hit for reasons she didn’t deserve and Sarah being protected—even if I never saw her again, even if she cursed my name in public, even if she spat on my grave when it was all said and done—then yes, I was more than willing to get involved.
“I’m going to make some phone calls,” I growled. “Dante, continue finding out what you can, and get whatever help you need. I will get involved, but that doesn’t mean you or our security team can rest on their laurels.”
“You know who to start with?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll call you in a few hours to see how things are going.”
We quickly hung up after that, and I wasted no time heading to my office. I had a few unused burner phones, ones that I only intended to break out in case of a professional or personal emergency like this. There was never a reason to engage in seedyterritory, even unofficially, when official means of money and power did the trick.
But call it my second lesson of the day, the first being what Sarah’s departure had taught me. When two powerful men squared off and money and strength were equal, apparently, one needed to bring in a different kind of weapon. Some might call it below the belt, some might call it unfair.
Who fucking cared? Sarah’s life might be on the line, and down the road, mine might be too. I wasn’t going to gamble on social niceties helping along the way.
I pulled out one of the burner phones and then unlocked another cabinet. This cabinet had certain cell phone numbers written by hand, numbers of other powerful and violent people I could call in a pinch. The thing about handwritten numbers was they could easily be burned or shredded; emails or computer documents that got deleted tended to leave painful trails that had befallen many of my fellow billionaires.
It might have been old school, but there was a reason in the old school, the mafia ran Las Vegas with almost no issues from the feds.
I found the number I was looking for, grabbed a burner phone, and hesitated for only a moment. When I crossed this bridge, there was no going back. I might win a short-term battle to protect Sarah, but others would see what I had reached for and might try to do the same.
What was Sarah worth?
Everything.
I dialed the number. The ringtone began. Then it stopped. I heard what sounded like a phone being moved and then heard the voice I wanted to hear.
“Hello?” the gruff voice on the other end of the line said. Not accusingly, but not welcoming, either.
“Prince, it’s the King of Hearts.”
A very, very long pause came. So long, in fact, I wondered if Prince had put the phone down and walked away, simply to let me hang up eventually. The only reason I knew he actually hadn’t was I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
“The fuck do you want?”
I had to pick my words carefully. I knew trying to play the “billionaire buying the boys” approach would go terribly, but so too would a meek entreaty for help.
“A meeting with you and anyone else in the Black Reapers you want to bring,” I said, hoping that was enough to appease him. “I will come alone. But I want to speak to you.”
An even longer pause came. If this was part of Prince’s strategy, well, it had me on fucking pins and needles. I wasn’t used to waiting on other people. At least I hadn’t gotten hung up on immediately.
“And why the fuck would we give you that?”
“Because it’s not for me,” I said. “It’s for her.”
I didn’t bother to elaborate on “her.” That could’ve been referring to Sarah Carpenter or the First Lady of the United States. I was only hoping that appealing to the need to protect a woman of importance would reach Prince more than appealing to violence or power.
After all, it hadn’t been victory that had tamed the Black Reapers. It had been love.
Funny, I thought briefly, how that idea had seemed so repulsive just a month ago, yet now it was something I understood far more than I ever cared to admit—and I was still a broken heart.
